


Winter

by SleepsWithCoyotes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anthropomorphic, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6178246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepsWithCoyotes/pseuds/SleepsWithCoyotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter's got a nose for discrepancies like these.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my 2015 Halloween theme - this one is for the black cat square.

Steve has seen Nick Fury in a lot of different states--frustrated, amused, complacent, toweringly angry--but beat to hell is a new one. Nick's moving like he's feeling every bit of his age, the hitch of his breath a weakness Steve's never seen him show before. He's torn between telling Nick to sit down before he falls down and grilling him for information, because if Nick's right, if SHIELD is compromised--

Compromised by _who_?

He's still trying to think of a clever way to ask that when someone shoots out the window.

Nick dives for the floor while the glass is still in the air, and Steve lunges to cover him without thinking. Two more shots fly over their heads, tearing huge chunks of plaster out of the wall, but they're aimed wide: warning shots, not kill shots.

"Are you all right?" Steve demands as he grabs Nick by the jacket and hauls him away from the window.

"Define 'all right'," Nick growls sarcastically, gasping for breath. Whatever he's already been through, Steve landing on him can't have improved matters.

Leaning his head out carefully around the corner, Steve peers through his destroyed window, expecting to see nothing but the office building next door, and freezes when he sees a man staring arrogantly back from the neighboring roof. No, not a man--not with those triangular ears perched on top of his head. It's somebody's cat.

The cat's got a gun.

Someone's kicking at his door, and on the third try, the lock breaks and the door flies open. Steve braces himself for mercenaries or enemy agents; the last person he's expecting to see is his neighbor Kate, gun in hand. Steve's starting to feel like he's missing something here.

"Captain Rogers!" Kate calls as she inches her way in, eyes peeled for danger. "Captain, I'm Agent Thirteen of SHIELD Special Service."

"Kate?" he asks dumbly. It's probably not her name, but he suspects they haven't been properly introduced.

"Agent Thirteen," Nick cuts in, pushing himself to sit up against the wall as Kate rushes in. "We've got a situation."

"Sir?" She sounds shocked as she gets a good look at Fury; Steve has a good feeling about leaving Nick in her hands.

When he checks out the window again, the cat is only just turning away, face obscured by a mask and a mane of dark hair.

"If it's," Nick mutters as Kate kneels to take his pulse, "that cat again--"

"I got him," Steve says, taking a firm grip on his shield and two steps back before he launches himself at the window.

Tearing through the empty office building, he keeps an eye on the windows and spots the cat running parallel along the roof on the next building over. Steve puts on an extra burst of speed, having taken a tour of the neighboring rooftops a time or two himself, purely for curiosity's sake. He likes knowing the lay of the land for reasons exactly like the mess he's in now.

Plowing through another window and out into the open air, he clears a narrow alley, rolling to his feet as he lands on top of another building and comes up to find the cat waiting for him at the far edge of the roof. Steve cocks his arm, ready to throw his shield, but the cat just stares. It's impossible to tell for certain behind the mask, but from the sharp, jerky movements of the cat's chin, Steve would swear the cat is sniffing the air.

The cat's ears are larger than he first realized, too plush-furred to be anything but an exotic, which probably explains his size. He's six feet if he's an inch, broad-shouldered, fills out the black tactical suit he wears with a powerful build most cats can't match. His left arm appears to be armor-plated, armed with what might be retractable claws. Steve doesn't see a tail at all, and while it could have been bobbed, the cat's black-tipped ears are crowned with long, silken tufts that wake an aching loneliness in the pit of Steve's stomach.

The cat frowns, pale eyes narrowing. They're probably yellow; in the wan glow of the streetlamps, it's impossible to tell. That they look blue to him is just his mind playing tricks.

Lowering the shield a fraction, Steve asks, "Who are you? Why are you after Fury?"

The cat steps closer. This time Steve can hear the quiet susurration of his indrawn breath, followed by an impatient growl. His hair is brown, Steve notices, not black. He's glaring, but he hasn't drawn any of his weapons. He looks...he can't possibly look this familiar.

The silver arm comes up, clawtips catching on the black mesh muzzling the cat's lower face and yanking it away. Nostrils flare immediately, the cat scenting the air with another tiny jerk of his chin, but Steve can't even comprehend why the _sight_ of him isn't enough to settle all questions of who he is. It's more than enough for Steve.

"Bucky?" he asks, arms going slack at his sides.

Bucky's face screws up in disdain, lips pulling back from sharp teeth. "Who the hell is Bucky?"

Steve's face goes cold and the pit of his stomach sings with tension. He almost believes he's made a mistake, but that's Bucky's voice, the exact expression Bucky used to wear when bullies used to give Steve grief or when the recruiters used to tell Bucky they could find him another handler--a better handler--if he cared to join the war effort. It _is_ Bucky, and if he doesn't remember....

Steve has no idea what he's going to do if Bucky doesn't remember. But he's not letting him go for anything.

"You are, Buck," Steve says hoarsely, pretending he doesn't notice Bucky coming another step closer. "That's your name."

Fat almond pupils, eerily human at their normal dilation, slit fine as Bucky glowers. "My name is Winter."

"Your name is Buchanan," Steve insists. "We were studying the presidents when you followed me home. We grew up together--we even joined the army together. Well. _You_ joined the army. Me they took after they saw you fight," he says with a strained laugh. How can Bucky not remember this? All he can do is keep trying.

"You rubbed their _noses_ in it, Buck--made them take me as I was, because you figured I'd die if you left and I'd die anyway if we stayed, and at least the army was offering three squares a day. You--they wanted you for Project Rebirth, but then the head scientist picked me instead. Erskine, remember? You saved his life when a spy tried to blow up the lab," he says with increasing desperation. Bucky keeps slinking closer, but there's no recognition in his eyes, nothing but the intent watchfulness that had made him so deadly as a sniper. "And then they ended up giving you one of the last vials of the serum just so you could keep up with me. Hydra bombed the lab the very next day."

The mention of Hydra makes one tufted ear twitch, but Bucky stops in his tracks, eyes hot with insult. "Keep up with you? You're a human," he scoffs.

"I'm your human," Steve says quietly. "Always have been."

Bucky huffs, unconvinced. "What would I want with a human?"

"Been asking myself that most of my life," Steve admits. Bucky's so close now he could reach out and touch him, and it takes all his willpower to keep his hands at his sides. "Do you really not remember me, Buck?"

Bucky's ears flick back, flattening to his skull, before they slowly unfold again--only halfway, but it's a start. "I smelled you coming home," he says, his voice a low growl. "I know your scent."

"Is that why you didn't kill Fury?"

Bucky snarls. His black-tipped stub of a tail is probably lashing. Steve half expects Bucky to push past him and have another go at Nick and is half afraid he's going to bolt for cover and disappear, but Bucky does neither.

"I know your scent," he repeats, closing the distance by one more step. They're toe to toe, and while Bucky doesn't loom over him anymore, the sheer weight of his bristling presence is enormous.

"You know _me_."

Bucky purses his lips, searches Steve's face, and finally leans in close.

Steve closes his eyes as he feels Bucky's warm breath ghost over the line of his jaw and down his throat. He's missed the soft sounds Bucky makes as he scents Steve, the closeness and the familiarity, though it was never about identification before. Steve's scent is Bucky's truth spell, his barometer of Steve's health, occasionally his distraction from things that have him holding his breath. Bucky never needed a reason to drink in Steve's scent before, and as far as Steve's concerned, he doesn't need one now.

He goes very still when Bucky leans in a fraction more, the ticklish brush of his nose followed by his tongue rasping slowly over the frantic beat of Steve's pulse.

Bucky freezes when Steve does, mouth hovering over Steve's skin without touching. When Steve does nothing more, Bucky's poised tension slowly unwinds. He ducks his head to sniff at Steve's shirt, but before Steve can decide whether to make some joke about freshening up, Bucky pushes his head up under Steve's chin and stays there.

The move is so familiar it hurts, though the boneless relaxation and lazy purr are missing. Steve lets the muscles in his neck go slack, resting his chin on top of Bucky's head with a slow, shaky sigh.

Bucky pushes him back with both hands, but he doesn't push hard. He's still scowling, but he's been like that since they were separated at Azzano, when Bucky got captured and taken to Zola. The days when Bucky always had a smile or a smirk for everyone are long gone.

"Why don't I remember you?" From the bitter twist of Bucky's mouth, Steve suspects Bucky already knows the answer to that. A muscle under Bucky's eye twitches as his gaze goes unfocused, poring over past experience and not liking what he finds.

"I don't know, Buck. Who did this to you? Please," he adds at Bucky's suspicious look. "I just want to help."

"Hydra," Bucky says shortly, tipping his head as he watches the horror of that wash over Steve's face. "What?"

Steve swallows hard. Hydra? Bucky's got to be wrong...they put an end to them seventy years ago, didn't they? But if he's wrong...if they survived with a new head in Schmidt's place.... "Hydra...they're the enemy, Buck. We...we were trying to stop them when you--fell. I thought you were dead. They must have found you, captured you, and--God, Bucky. I'm so sorry. I thought you were _dead_."

Bucky regards him thoughtfully before nodding once and turning to go.

"Wait--where are you going?" Steve blurts, reaching out before he can stop himself.

Bucky edges further away, but his closed-off expression is more angry than wary. "To get answers," he says as his scowl is traded for a vicious smile. It's his hunting grin, the one he used to wear in the war and for dogs stupid enough to mistake him for a housecat. "And I know just the mutt to start with."

"Bucky!"

It's too late; Bucky darts away before Steve can stop him, going over the edge of the roof as if the drop is nothing. When Steve sprints to peer over the edge, Bucky is already gone.

He stands there too long, heart in his throat. He can't believe Bucky's alive, that he found Bucky, and that Bucky's already missing again. The hope that settles behind his ribs is even harder to deal with. Despite what the recruiters and their old superiors believed, he's never had any hold on Bucky or any control over him, either. A lynx isn't a tabby.

Which means that--if Bucky wants--he'll be back.

Steve's sure there's a joke in there about curiosity and how bad _someone's_ luck is going to be when that particular cat in black crosses their path, but he knows it won't be curiosity that brings Bucky to his door. Whatever Hydra's done to him, they can't erase Bucky's instincts, and whatever had brought a stray cub to a skinny, sickly kid's side so many years ago will bring him back again. Steve's sure of it.

Until then he'll keep his eyes peeled, because he'll be damned if he lets Bucky fall again.

**Author's Note:**

> So I had to scrap the first version of this because it walked up, shook my hand, and said, "Hi, I'm a feels epic on the nature of species, or else I'm a species epic on the nature of feels. Got a month?" And yeah, no, I have no month. _Right now._ So I went for a cutscene instead. *laughs* I'll probably end up doing the entire stupid epic eventually, fair warning.
> 
> And yes, this is CanadaLynx!Bucky, AKA Snow Kitty, [because](http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://x.annihil.us/u/prod/marvel/i/mg/8/03/549892bc25006/standard_incredible.jpg&imgrefurl=http://marvel.com/characters/65/winter_soldier&h=450&w=450&tbnid=fiaK8xdqQ-uhVM:&docid=mlLowxGHSTUrIM&ei=EkD7Ve2YOdasyATT2a_ADA&tbm=isch&ved=0CDIQMygBMAFqFQoTCO3pw7OQ_8cCFVYWkgod0-wLyA) [reasons](http://www.wallpaperup.com/169598/lynx_wild_cat_muzzle.html).


End file.
